Be More Cat - Epilogue

Two weeks ago, we had to say goodbye to Tulip, our cat.

She had been ill, and deteriorating, albeit she wasn’t sick for long - I think it was just 2 months from the day she came in with a big gash below her jaw, to the day she was taken to the vet to be put down.

I’m not sure what was harder (i am, actually) - the sadness i feel and the sense of loss; the sadness i felt seeing how it impacted on my children (spoiler alert - it was the latter).

Yesterday, speaking to a friend and neighbour about how hard I found it seeing the reactions of my children to telling them that we had to say goodbye to her, he told me that he didn’t cry when his Mum died.  He didn’t cry when his Dad died.  He bawled like a baby when he had to take his dog to the vet, that final time.

I’m blessed to have both my parents around, as does my wife, but I can understand what my neighbour told me.  

I can’t explain what Tulip meant to our family.

She was with us for such a short, yet critical time.

It’s obvious to say that I miss her.  I like to get up before the rest of the house is awake, and go for a walk.  When I get up, go down stairs, sit on the sofa to put on my shoes……. I miss being greeted by her, walking between my legs, pushing into me with her face, or putting a paw (and her claws!) on my leg.

When I get home, I miss walking up the path on a sunny day and saying out loud ‘oy, get off the kitchen table’ only to have her stare at me as if to say 'Who are you talking to?’ and then appear by the front door and look at me with a quizzical ‘You know that wasn’t me on that table, right?!’ look on her face.  Every.  Single.  Time.

I miss the boys teasing one another about who’s room she likes more.  Or seeing them just chilling, with her sat next to one of them, absentmindedly stroking her.

Is this the right place to talk about my cat, and her demise?

Should i be writing up ‘the death of my cat and the 7 things she taught me about b2b sales/leadership/SaaS data solutions?’.

IDGF.  I like to write.  If you’re reading this, then you like to read.  And if you’re reading this for some kind of insight or revelation, then, on this occasion, I wasted your time; there will be something closer to that, albeit around an entirely different subject, next week.

Tulip was a good cat.  A loving cat.  She needed a loving environment, and we gave her one.  It wasn’t always as calm and placid as she was, but I always had the feeling that wherever she spent the first years of her life, was somehow less stable than our house.

We all benefited from having her around.  She expressed gratitude, she appreciated the simplest things in life, and she didn’t care about Brexit, covid, or Middle Eastern politics, at least not as far as I'm aware from the conversations we had.

She was just a cat.

And now she isn’t.

And the tears on the faces of my children since we had to tell them that she was soon to depart this mortal coil will be indelibly etched upon my memory.  But not as much as the memory of her affection, free spirit and sense of calm.

We can still all benefit from learning how to be more Cat.